


But the Key is a Question of Control

by candesgirl



Category: Caprica (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/pseuds/candesgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joseph can only hold on to his control for so long. Angry, smutty, masturbating PWP. (Did I just make it seem like the PWP itself was masturbating?) Mildly dubious content imagined on Joseph's part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But the Key is a Question of Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [severinne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/gifts).



He could see nothing at first but Daniel on his knees where the smug bastard belonged; on his knees, bleeding from split lips, panting and groaning but never swallowing his frakking pride. Joseph sat on the end of his too big, too lonely, too cold bed with his head in the same hands that had wanted more of Daniel, there in the back alley of the gym. His fingers had itched for more of that cruel contact, yearned for more blood and heat and strained intimacy. He had let Sam do most of the dirty work, had slipped behind his own mask of vaguely guarded jealousy, aiming instead for cool matter-of-fact and in-your-face disdain. He'd tried not to flinch when Sam had put his hands on Daniel, hadn't responded to Sam's own sideways glance at his showing the man a bit of undeserved mercy or at his none too typical pause. Years, maybe months ago, Joseph would have done nothing more than send Sam out to do his dirty work without barely a passing thought of how it might go down, weeks ago he'd have maybe gone along for the ride, watched for sport or out of boredom from the car or the corner in his detached sort of way. 

But Daniel, frak, Daniel was different. Daniel had been different since that weird meeting over a cigarette and the even weirder shared coffee down the street. Daniel was smart and arrogant and cocky, and hurt both emotionally and physically. He wore hurt well, Joseph had thought; it looked good behind eyes that weren't afraid to look at Joseph, looked good in the form of drying blood on his swollen lips and that's when Joseph had paused. If Sam hadn't been there he'd have maybe taken care of this unique problem of theirs in a completely different kind of way, with an altogether different kind of aggression.

Aggression was something Joseph understood, aggression and passion and it had flashed hot and bright, right there behind the hurt in Daniel's eyes, behind that lingering air of dignity that stayed with Daniel even when bloodied and brought his knees. Joseph closed his eyes tight at that particularly wanton image, ran his hands over his own face, balled them info fists and punched the bed behind him once, twice and then again. He wailed as rage boiled hot in his blood again, racing through his veins and pooling almost violently in his groin. He was hard and ready to frak or fight and gods he hadn't frakked since the morning of the bombing when he'd coaxed his wife awake with a slow drag of tongue against her clit until she'd been absolutely soaked and ready for him. He'd slid into her warmth then and made love to her slow and lazy, drawing her orgasm out of her like they had all the time in the world. He'd crawled into their bed later that fateful night, remembering, rolling around like a dog in the sheets and chasing her smell with a chafing hand on his limp dick, wanting and frakking remembering until he thought he might go mad. He'd stripped their bed then, in the middle of the night, scrubbed with his bare hands every stitch that had been touching it until he couldn't smell her anymore.

 

He moved quick off the bed, threw it a nasty glare as if it were alive and responsible for death and lust and jealousy and the dull, aching throb in his cock. He wondered if Daniel channeled that afternoon's energy in the same way, wondered idly and cruelly if Amanda Graystone was a natural blonde and what Daniel's red-gold hair might look like between her legs. He moved towards the bed with purpose, rubbed against it with a stutter, remembering Daniel's puffy, split lips, no longer interested in how they might entertain his wife. He rubbed harder against the bed, a series of short up and down motions like he might do with Daniel, with his dick against Daniel's swollen lips, with Daniel's defiant, proud eyes on his. Up and down, slow and steady until it wasn't enough, until he wanted to wipe that frakking defiance right off Daniel's face and shove it deep down his throat, over and over and deep and deeper until he was gagging on that defiance. 

Joseph thrust his hips hard against the bed, one hand bracing himself with a tight grasp on that clean bedding that had been washed of its previous sin, stripped of any trace of that morning with his wife and that edged him on. He was close to painful release already, closer with each hard push against the mattress, with each unforgiving, imaginary stab against the back of Daniel's throat. Garbled cries caused by friction induced fire could have passed for pained, choking sobs and with a final press he groaned, grabbing at the bed as if it were Daniel's head, clutching until it might be painful, as if the exquisite, pleasure induced pain might make them both forget. Uncomfortable wetness quickly grew cold against his skin and clothes and he stumbled away from the bed, smoothed creases and checked for evidence of his moment of weakness. He stepped back, satisfied, Daniel Graystone would not linger in his bed.


End file.
